by Jillian Dodd
I was getting ready to ask him exactly what he meant by It’s gonna happen. Because what’s gonna happen? Does he think Brooklyn will kiss me, or does he think we’ll do more? Because it sounds a lot like sex.
Brooklyn tosses Damian a towel.
Damian says casually, “I’m off to sleep in the movie room. Wake me up when you’re ready to roll.” He gives me a not-so-subtle wink that I know Brooklyn sees.
“You want to stay out here for a little while longer?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say casually, but my insides feel anything but casual. My heart is pounding. My mouth feels dry.
I take a big sip of beer.
I think I have stage fright. All of a sudden I can’t think of any of the lines from all the scripts that I’ve written. Which pisses me off, because all those sexy/witty comebacks that are supposed to be stored in my brain for this exact moment are gone!
Brooklyn slides into the tub.
His tan chest almost glistens in the moonlight. The ocean breeze blows his hair back. His hair got wet earlier and now the ends of it are curling slightly. I want to reach out and run my fingers through them. I want to tell him how I feel. How I’ve always loved him.
He slides next to me, leans back, and stretches both his arms out across the back of the hot tub. One of them touches my back and shoulders. I lean back against it, wanting to be closer to him.
When I realize what I’ve done, I lean my head back further and pretend to have only leaned back to look up at the stars.
He doesn’t say anything, so I nervously ramble. “I’m glad we’re staying out. It’s such a pretty night. Plus, I know when I get out, I’ll freeze. It’s nice and toasty in here. It’s gonna be weird without Damian around,” I babble on, mostly because that’s the only topic of conversation my brain could come up with while it’s rapidly rewriting new scenes for tonight.
Scenes where he tells me he’s always liked me. Scenes where we share our first kiss under the stars in the hot tub.
He looks up at the stars then turns toward me and narrows his eyes. “So are you and Sander back together? Is that why he showed up tonight?”
“Uh, no, we’re not! We’re gonna stay friends though. We went shopping today. It’s all good. And you were right. A couple guys from school saw my Facebook status and asked me out.”
Well, asked me out is a bit of a stretch.
More like wanted to hookup.
“See, I told ya. So are you gonna go out with them?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t replied yet.”
He smiles and says, “Good,” then leans closer and slides his finger slowly across my jawline.
I hold my breath, afraid to breathe.
Afraid I’ll wake up and find out this isn’t real.
I look down shyly and try to steady my breathing, because I think this is finally it.
After almost two years of dreaming about his lips, I think I’ll finally get to kiss them.
He gently pushes my chin upward, and that’s when our lips finally meet.
They melt together in a slow, easy kiss.
A very Brooklyn kiss.
There are no fireworks or fanfare.
Just sweet, soft, adorable kisses.
Laid back.
Easygoing.
Relaxed.
His lips kiss my top lip.
His lips kiss my bottom lip.
His lips press against both my lips.
His lips slowly kiss across my cheek and then softly kiss my neck.
And then, just when I was starting to miss them, his lips are back on mine, and he deliciously slides his tongue into my mouth.
Slowly.
Gently.
Like he’s tasting it.
Then like he’s exploring it.
Over and over again.
I have no concept of time whatsoever while we kiss. I just know I don’t ever want it to end.
He forcefully pulls me onto his lap, facing him. His hard pull is a shocking contrast to his soft kisses and it makes me feel warm all over.
I respond by roughly raking my fingers through those curls at the back of his neck and kissing him hard.
His mouth finds his way to my ear, and he whispers poetically, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”
Then he kisses hard down my neck. Sucking my skin into his mouth then letting it go. Moving down slightly and then sucking on another spot.
There are no more soft, easy kisses. While he’s sucking on my neck, he reaches back with one hand and unties my bikini top.
I’m thankful that we’re still outside. The sounds of the waves crashing into shore are almost loud enough to drown out the sound of my heart.
I’m nearly breathless as my top falls down, and when his lips move down my chest, I gasp with pleasure and realize I need him closer to me. I must have every part of me touching every part of him.
I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him closer to me. I run my hands wildly across his back and shoulders, then grab the back of his neck tightly and rock my hips into his.
I have scripted and imagined so many scenes where this would finally happen, but this is so much better than any of them. Whatever nervousness I felt before is gone. I feel bold, so I slide my hands down inside the back of his board shorts, finally getting to touch the naked version of what I’ve always admired.
He stops kissing my chest and puts his forehead against mine. He’s breathing as heavily as I am.
“We need to stop, Keats.”
Stop?
But I don’t want to stop! I feel like we just got started.
“Um, okay. I guess I should head home then,” I say. But I don’t move. I have no intention of going anywhere.
“I don’t want you to go home, but we should probably get to bed. It’s late and everyone will be back here early.”
“Oh.” Bed, huh? Well, hell, that might just be the one place I’m willing to get out of the hot tub for.
But then I worry. Is this his sneaky way of getting me into bed? Or is he actually tired?
He hops out of the hot tub, grabs a towel, and holds it out for me.
As I stand up, my bikini top falls completely down, and I instinctively cover up my chest.
His pleased grin makes getting out of the hot tub worth it. I step out of the tub and let him wrap me up in a towel. He wraps his arms around the towel, kisses me some more, and lets out a little moan.
It’s the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard.
I follow him up to his room and strip off my wet bikini like I usually do, still staying fully covered with the towel. Normally, I steal a pair of his boxers and an old t-shirt to sleep in. I look down at myself and think back to my failed seduction attempt on Sander. When I wrote scenes for seducing Brooklyn, my wardrobe certainly did not consist of an old camp t-shirt and a pair of boxers.
I keep the wet towel wrapped around me while contemplating whether or not I should just jump naked into his bed. I mean, what if he actually does want to just go to sleep? My being naked might be a tad awkward.
He sits on the side of the bed with his back toward me and takes off his board shorts. I decide that if he gets in naked. I’ll go naked.
He slides on a pair of boxers and, happily, I get to see a nice view of his naked butt when he stands up.
But that also means I have to find something to wear. I dig through his drawer and find the smallest boxers I can, then grab the softest t-shirt. If I can’t be sexy then I’m at least going to be soft.
I put them on, walk around to the other side of his bed, and slide under his cool sheets.
His hands are immediately on the hem of his shirt.
“Take this off,” he says, tugging on it.
I sit up, pull the shirt off, lie back down, and try not to hyperventilate.
I think things actually are going to happen.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It’s dark in his room, but the moonlight dancing over the waves outsid
e causes light to bounce around his room. Light that is just as romantic as the stars.
Brooklyn’s eyes glide over my body in a way that makes me feel like he’s actually caressing me. And when he pulls me into his arms and kisses me, my naked chest presses tightly against his.
“That thing that you whispered to me about joy. What was it?”
He murmurs into my hair. “A thing of beauty is a joy forever. It’s Keats. For my Keats.”
His Keats. I think those may be the most beautiful words I have ever heard.
I fall happily to sleep.
Sunday, May 15th
So it was just a hookup?
7:45am
Sunlight and a soft, cool breeze stream through the open doors. It takes me a second to realize that I’m shirtless in Brooklyn’s bed.
Last night wasn’t just a really good dream.
Finally! After all the dreaming and planning, all the scripts I wrote, I finally got to kiss him.
A lot!
Brooklyn lazily opens his eyes and pulls me into a kiss.
As we’re kissing, he gently takes my hand and lays it on the front of his boxers, letting me feel how very hard he is.
I mentally thank Vanessa for going into such detail about how to please a man. She told me and RiAnne it was vital information every girl should know. And I needed the lesson. At the time, I thought giving a blowjob meant you actually blew on it. Not that I’ve had the opportunity to practice, but at least I understand the theory.
I run my hand firmly up and down the outside of his boxers. He groans softly then slides them off.
I internally panic.
Now what am I supposed to do? Does he want sex? A blowjob? For me to continue with my hand?
Do I want sex?
Shouldn’t he confess his love to me first?
Or did he kinda last night? When I went from his bff to his Keats.
He kisses me again and puts my hand back where it was. It feels odd. Like a foreign country.
A foreign country I’ve read all about, even seen the videos of, but have never visited.
He puts his hand over mine and guides me.
Pretty soon he starts breathing heavily, and his whole body stiffens up.
Even though I know what just happened was all about making him feel good, it kinda made me feel good too.
Like, powerful. Like, intoxicated with power.
Brooklyn rolls up against me and gently caresses my chest, across my stomach, and down my leg.
His fingers gently stroke the insides of my thighs and then move between my legs.
“I want to make you feel good too,” he whispers, as he slides his finger inside of me.
It’s not the first time a guy has done this to me, but Brooklyn seems to be doing it a whole lot better. I start to feel light-headed, and my breathing is labored, much as his was a few minutes ago.
He does it faster and harder, and oh, my, it feels good.
My hips start to move with him.
“Oh, God,” I say, then make an odd whimpering noise. A noise that sounds like a cross between a plea and a prayer.
He kisses me hard, and I gasp into his mouth.
Then I collapse in a relaxed heap.
Wow.
I’ve never felt so amazing in my life. No expensive massage, no amount of weed, not even the pain pills I got when I sprained my ankle, have ever made me feel this way.
I stretch out on the bed and practically purr.
We’re kissing when Mark bursts through the door and says loudly, “Dude, surf’s up.”
It’s not unusual for me to sleep in Brooklyn’s bed, and although I’m mostly covered up, I’m sure he saw us kissing. He gets a funny grin on his face then slowly backs out of the door with both his hands in the air.
“It’s about fucking time. So, hey, we’re gonna get baked. Surf. Join us, like, whenever you get done.”
“Wake and bake,” Brooklyn says excitedly. “Abso-fucking-lutely. We’ll be right down.”
We’ll be right down? I’m a little disappointed by those words. I wasn’t planning on getting out of his bed. I was thinking about staying here forever. And possibly seeing if he could do that to me again.
Instead, he kisses my cheek sweetly. “This was fun.”
I can’t hide my grin. It was fun.
But I was kind of thinking it was about love?
While Brooklyn gets our boards out, I walk down to the beach. The guys, including Damian, are sitting in the sand, passing around a joint. Everyone but Mark heads into the water. I sit down next to him, and he offers me a hit.
Normally, I never smoke in the morning. Really the only time I smoke is at night with Brooklyn, to chill. Still, I take a small hit. Not that I need it; I’m already feeling very relaxed.
“You’re single now, huh?” Mark asks.
“Yeah.”
“So you and Brook?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“So it was just a hookup?”
“Uh.” Ohmigawd! Was it? Was it a one-time thing? Is that what he meant by this was fun? Could it have been just a hookup to Brooklyn? “I'm not sure,” I finally say.
“Well, if you’re ever looking for a hookup, call me.”
“I, uh . . .” I’m so eloquent this morning. I don’t know what to say—I don’t want hookups. I want to be in love. But I hang out with enough guys to know that’s usually all they want. And really, what’s wrong with it? We’re young. Mark’s kinda cute. If I weren’t crazy about Brooklyn, I could be sort of attracted to him.
“She’s not calling you, Mark,” Brooklyn says from behind us.
My heart races again, but I don’t know what it means. Is he looking out for me, or does he only want me to hook up with him?
Or, like, whatever it was.
Like, again.
Brooklyn shoves my board into the sand as Mark heads out in the water.
“I told you. Guys will be glad you're single.”
He puts his hand out to help me up. I take it, and he pulls me straight into his arms.
“Keats . . . ”
He looks like he wants to say something more, but he kisses me instead. His hands glide down my entire backside.
I let out a little involuntary sigh. “No one’s ever made me feel that way. It was my first time.”
Brooklyn swallows hard and says, “I’m trying to go slow.”
I wrap my arms tightly around his neck and kiss him deeply.
The significance of his kissing me in front of his friends and possessively squeezing my ass is not lost on me.
It makes me feel sexy. Bold. Desired.
“Slow is over rated,” I say.
Monday, May 16th
Too good to be true.
Lunch
I ignored Vanessa and RiAnne and all their missed calls, messages, and texts this weekend. So as soon as we got done surfing yesterday, and Brooklyn left to golf with his dad, I called them both and apologized. Lied and said that I was depressed about the breakup.
Vanessa immediately took that as a cry to shop.
She felt it imperative that we look good at school today.
Like, too good to be true.
Which is her favorite saying.
She thinks she’s too good to be true. Even though I know deep down she’s not really that confident, has serious daddy issues, and zero self-control, she projects an outward image of nothing but confidence. And everyone sees her lack of control at parties as more of her lure.
The rich party girl.
When I started dating Sander, she started partying. Once she realized Sander seemed to really like me, she decided not to compete in a game she couldn’t win. If I had the part of the sweet girlfriend, she was going to be the sexy hookup. RiAnne fell somewhere in between. She’s had both boyfriends and hookups, depending on her mood.
Vanessa acted like a general planning an attack. She wants to prove to everyone that even though I’m not with Sander anymore, we deserve to sit
at our normal lunch table.
I didn’t bother to tell her that I’m pretty sure Sander is going to be the one sitting somewhere else.
Nor did I tell her that Sander may show up at school looking very different.
I also failed to mention my dinner with Cush and his dad, and my possible hookup thing with Brooklyn.
Brooklyn, who I haven’t talked to in over twenty-four hours.
Aren’t you supposed to call a girl—or at least text her—after you do stuff together?
I have a feeling the fact that he hasn’t means that it was just a hookup to him. That it didn’t mean anything.
But then, why did he say he was taking it slow? And why did he say it like going slow was difficult, but that he was doing it for me? And why did he call me his Keats? His Keats!!!
If a guy is taking it slow, in theory, it means he likes you. It should mean there is going to be a next time, right?
Right?!
And it’s been really hard to think about anything school-related today because thoughts of Brooklyn are raging through my brain.
And I’m wearing the shoes from hell.
Which means my brain has been alternately thinking about Brooklyn and how bad my feet hurt. It’s been hard for me to even keep up.
What if it was just a hookup?
Ohmigawd, poor little pinkie toe is being smooshed to hell.
When does a person going slow call you?
For sure there’s going to be a blister.
Should I text him? And what would I say?
Oh, walk a little slower. The ball of my foot feels like it might burst into flames.
You could just text him and be like, hey.
I feel another hotspot on the back of my right heel.
No, he should text you first.
Can we please just sit down?
I have no one to blame for my discomfort but myself. It’s not the shoes’ fault I bought them a half-size too small so I could wear them today instead of special-ordering the proper size.
I’m wearing one of the numerous outfits Vanessa helped me pick out yesterday.
A very fitted, graphic black, white, and orange Alexander Wang pullover.
A pair of black leather shorts. Same designer.